hours.”
Silence. “Oh. That’s wonderful.”
“Yes. It is. I have to go, Breze.”
“Wait…”
I hung up. “Sorry to get in between you and my dad’s money, Evil.” I glanced at the clock.
I had to hurry. My flight was a mere two hours away and I still had to navigate the heavy traffic on 465 on the way to the airport.
Excitement warred with fear, spinning like a whirlwind in my belly. I was excited by the idea of finally putting all my questions about my father’s disappearance to rest. I was more than excited about the chance to spend time with the sexy Cal. And I was terrified to face my negligent parental unit at long last.
What if he’d left because he didn’t love me? What if he’d left because he was dying and didn’t want me to know?
I swallowed hard. What if he was already dead?
I zipped my suitcase and headed for the door, grabbing up purse number one hundred and five on the way out. It was the one I already had filled with my wallet and stuff and fortunately it came from my conservative and practical collection of bags.
I’d have hated to face the Bayou with nothing but a sparkly clutch in my hands.
###
By the time we drove into Sinful, Louisiana, I’d reconsidered the wonderfulness of spending time with the once sexy Cal Amity. A more judgmental, stick-up-the-ass person I’d never met. I realized as he scoured me with a look that said “ you’re an idiot aren’t you? ” for about the hundredth time since we’d met at the airport in Indy, that the gulf between him and me just might be too wide to leap…or cross with a 747.
“I made us reservations at the Backwater Inn ,” he told me as he turned left off Sinful ’s wide, main street and headed for the dirty brown strip of water in the distance.
“Of course you did,” I murmured.
“I heard that.”
“Of course you did,” I murmured more softly.
“I heard that too.”
I glared over at him. “What’s the deal with the muddy puddle up ahead? Has there been a flood?”
“That would be the Bayou and I might need to use a boat for part of my investigation.”
I didn’t miss the “I” in his declaration. I would have argued, telling him there was no “I” in “me too” but the other part of his statement iced my bowels. My eyes widened as we turned into a pockmarked gravel parking lot, adjacent to a long building with fake logs for walls. “We’re going out there?” I jabbed a finger toward the muddy ribbon cutting a swath along the edge of Sinful. “Why ever would we do that?”
“Because that’s where I believe your father is.” Cal cut the engine and climbed out of the black Jeep he’d rented for us. He unfolded his long, lean length and stood, stretching enthusiastically before closing the door.
Yes, god help me, I did stare at his fine, round behind as he stretched. He might be a pain in my ass, but his was finer than hundred-year-old Scotch in front of a roaring fire.
Or as the people of Sinful would probably say…finer than frog hair. If frogs had hair.
Shaking my head on the question I climbed out too, groaning and clasping my back as pain zig-zagged down my leg. “I don’t want to sit down for a week.”
Cal focused his Caribbean blue gaze fringed with thick black lashes on me and, despite the “ you’re an idiot aren’t you? ” look on his chiseled features, my knee ligaments melted a little. “It was a long trip,” he offered in only a slightly disgusted tone.
I blinked, nearly toppling to the muddy gravel with surprise. “Um. Yeah. It was.”
I followed the intrepid Cal toward a door marked “Office” at the center of the long building.
A ten foot long concrete alligator adorned the narrow strip of grass alongside the door, his painted surface chipped and the flower hat on his head faded from the sun.
Cal’s assessing gaze slid right over the gator, seeing no entertainment value in it at all. But I just couldn’t resist a quick selfie. Crouching down next to the
Silence. “Oh. That’s wonderful.”
“Yes. It is. I have to go, Breze.”
“Wait…”
I hung up. “Sorry to get in between you and my dad’s money, Evil.” I glanced at the clock.
I had to hurry. My flight was a mere two hours away and I still had to navigate the heavy traffic on 465 on the way to the airport.
Excitement warred with fear, spinning like a whirlwind in my belly. I was excited by the idea of finally putting all my questions about my father’s disappearance to rest. I was more than excited about the chance to spend time with the sexy Cal. And I was terrified to face my negligent parental unit at long last.
What if he’d left because he didn’t love me? What if he’d left because he was dying and didn’t want me to know?
I swallowed hard. What if he was already dead?
I zipped my suitcase and headed for the door, grabbing up purse number one hundred and five on the way out. It was the one I already had filled with my wallet and stuff and fortunately it came from my conservative and practical collection of bags.
I’d have hated to face the Bayou with nothing but a sparkly clutch in my hands.
###
By the time we drove into Sinful, Louisiana, I’d reconsidered the wonderfulness of spending time with the once sexy Cal Amity. A more judgmental, stick-up-the-ass person I’d never met. I realized as he scoured me with a look that said “ you’re an idiot aren’t you? ” for about the hundredth time since we’d met at the airport in Indy, that the gulf between him and me just might be too wide to leap…or cross with a 747.
“I made us reservations at the Backwater Inn ,” he told me as he turned left off Sinful ’s wide, main street and headed for the dirty brown strip of water in the distance.
“Of course you did,” I murmured.
“I heard that.”
“Of course you did,” I murmured more softly.
“I heard that too.”
I glared over at him. “What’s the deal with the muddy puddle up ahead? Has there been a flood?”
“That would be the Bayou and I might need to use a boat for part of my investigation.”
I didn’t miss the “I” in his declaration. I would have argued, telling him there was no “I” in “me too” but the other part of his statement iced my bowels. My eyes widened as we turned into a pockmarked gravel parking lot, adjacent to a long building with fake logs for walls. “We’re going out there?” I jabbed a finger toward the muddy ribbon cutting a swath along the edge of Sinful. “Why ever would we do that?”
“Because that’s where I believe your father is.” Cal cut the engine and climbed out of the black Jeep he’d rented for us. He unfolded his long, lean length and stood, stretching enthusiastically before closing the door.
Yes, god help me, I did stare at his fine, round behind as he stretched. He might be a pain in my ass, but his was finer than hundred-year-old Scotch in front of a roaring fire.
Or as the people of Sinful would probably say…finer than frog hair. If frogs had hair.
Shaking my head on the question I climbed out too, groaning and clasping my back as pain zig-zagged down my leg. “I don’t want to sit down for a week.”
Cal focused his Caribbean blue gaze fringed with thick black lashes on me and, despite the “ you’re an idiot aren’t you? ” look on his chiseled features, my knee ligaments melted a little. “It was a long trip,” he offered in only a slightly disgusted tone.
I blinked, nearly toppling to the muddy gravel with surprise. “Um. Yeah. It was.”
I followed the intrepid Cal toward a door marked “Office” at the center of the long building.
A ten foot long concrete alligator adorned the narrow strip of grass alongside the door, his painted surface chipped and the flower hat on his head faded from the sun.
Cal’s assessing gaze slid right over the gator, seeing no entertainment value in it at all. But I just couldn’t resist a quick selfie. Crouching down next to the
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